Bbillings

Football Camp

A PZA 2010 Summer Sports Story
toc

If there was one thing that 13-year-old Bob took seriously, it was football. Ever since first starting in the summer after 5th Grade, it was a big part of his life. As an overweight kid, blocking as an offensive lineman was the first time where his large size and power was able to help him actually do well in sports. It was one of the few things in life that Bob could do extremely well, and as a result, he spent much of his life living the sport.

It became so much a part of his life that his parents decided to send him off to a special one-week training program to help him improve. There, he would spend a full seven days off practicing with coaches, living with peers at a college dorm, and at the end of the week, there was one big game, after which, everyone got to go home. For Bob, it was his first taste of freedom, and a chance to get even better at the sport he loved.

Bob took his camp experience extremely seriously. He had read a few sports nutrition books, and done some research on how to get more muscular, and he used many of those principles to his success at camp. He avoided all of the sugary breakfast foods, and opted for the high-protein eggs and bacon breakfast, followed by lots of veggies and a sandwich for lunch, and even skipped dessert for the first two days to keep up with this health regimen.

During practice, Bob went all out, and it showed. He became well respected by his age group of 11- through 13-year-olds as the biggest and strongest of the bunch.

It was during the free time, for the hour between breakfast and the second morning training session, and after lunch, and the early afternoon session, where Bob struggled. He was so serious about his practice that he often spent time in his room reading books about football or weight training, dieting and exercising that he didn't spend much time with the other boys on his floor, who often gathered to play board games or "truth or dare," and consequently, he became kind of an outcast among them very quickly, and the butt of many pranks.

On the third day, it became apparent to Bob that something was up. Immediately after coming back from breakfast, Bob went back up to his room to study his team's newly released playbook for the week-ending game. His floor-mates came up quite noisily a few minutes after, and when they had been all settled and gotten relatively quiet, he heard a knock at his door. Bob got up, and opened it to find out just which one of the boys needed to be told off.

There was nobody there. A stupid prank by stupid children, he thought to himself, but the boys had good timing. By the time he had lain back down on his mattress, the knock sounded again. This time, Bob laid in wait next to the door for more than a minute until he heard the knock again, and then he leapt at it, and when it opened, he startled the smallest boy on the entire floor; an older 12-year boy who earned the moniker "Mouse" because of his upturned nose, skinny little arms, and needy mannerisms.

The boy didn't run off. He actually asked to be let in. Bob was suspicious, but turned aside for Mouse to follow in.

"I'm sorry about the last knock," he started. "It was James' turn at truth or dare, and that was his dare. I'm actually here about mine too."

"These stupid games you all play need to stop bothering me," Bob said, still standing near the door. "This bugs the crap out of me," he continued, opening the door. "Now out, and don't come back!"

Mouse made no move to leave, in fact, he stood up a little straighter. "How about this. You help me complete my dare, and I'll get them to leave you alone for the rest of the time we're here. What do you say?"

Now that he felt like he was getting somewhere, Bob asked what he had to do, and the boy grew a little pink in the cheeks. "Close the door, and I'll tell you," Mouse said. When the door was finally closed, and he was able to draw Bob a little farther into the room, he spoke in a whisper. "I need you to show me your dick." When Bob drew back angrily, Mouse said "wait, wait 3; it's not just like that. I mean, I know you're not just going to whip it out for nothing, so I was gonna say you show me yours, I'll show you mine – you know, a trade – and, and, well, that can be it. I'll leave, and you won't be bothered again."

Bob considered this for a moment before continuing. He first thought to ask if it were possible for the boy to just return to his friends saying that he had seen it without actually doing anything, but the option of – what did he call it, a trade? - was somewhat enticing. Even at the age of 13, Bob had never really had a good chance to compare his growing member to anyone else's, and he was a little worried that his dick might be much smaller than other kid's his age. And puberty seemed to be coming along a little more slowly for him than what the books claimed should be happening 3;

"OK, fine," he said. He felt like he should cover himself from gay jokes, so he followed up with "I don't really want to, but if it will get you guys off my back, I'll do it."

"Great!" Mouse said, "Let's see it."

Bob didn't bother undoing his belt or the button on his jeans. His penis was still soft, but on the verge of a hard on, so it was dangling about two and a half inches [6 cm] away from the base. He unzipped his pants, reached inside, fumbled around a bit angling it just right so it would come out of his briefs, and eventually whipped it out, left it dangling about two inches [5 cm] outside his fly. Mouse smiled as he watched the whole process, and after a good two or three seconds, Mouse bolted for the doorhandle.

"Wait a minute," Bob said, grabbing the boy roughly by the shoulder of his polo shirt, ripping the material slightly. He had taken a big chance with this, and the boy tried to screw him over!?!? Now, he was angry.

He spun the boy around in the doorway, and took a wild swing. It was dead on, hitting Mouse right in the lower left side of his jaw, and it knocked him way off of his feet, and his body crashed into the wall and door with a loud thud.

Bob didn't quite know what to do for a minute. He had never hit anyone before, and had never been in a fight since no one was stupid enough to challenge the biggest kid in class. His first instinct appeared to be correct – he quickly turned the deadbolt near the door just as he heard a whole group of Mouse's friends skidding to a halt right outside the door. They were banging loudly on the door, and demanding that Bob open up.

Still making it up as he went, he lifted the crumpled-up, huddled boy from his place near the door, and threw him into the chair he had in the dorm. It looked bad – the boy had a huge purple and yellow bruise on his jaw where he was hit, and a stream of blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth. There was a lump on the other side of his head too, and some blood matted his hair. Mouse's right arm hung limply by his side – that was the side that had crashed into the wall. He looked like he had been hit by a car, and since he only weighed about seventy or eighty pounds [30-35 kg], and Bob weighed closer to two-hundred [90 kg], he figured the impact was probably similar. Thankfully, though, the boy was conscious. Barely.

Bob leaned down, speaking right next to the boy's ear. "All right. That was incredibly idiotic of you," he started, "but you're lucky I'm feeling nice today." He had no idea where he was going with this, but given the circumstances, Bob figured a little bullying could go a long way. He heard the boy sob quietly as he continued. He needed to buy more time to think. "You're going to go next to the door, without opening it, and you're going to tell you're friends to go away and to say nothing to anyone, and that you're just fine. If you try anything else, you'll be extremely sorry. Get it?"

The boy nodded, and to Bob's surprise, got up, and did exactly as he was asked. As soon as he started, the boys outside grew quiet, and listened, and Mouse even added to the dialogue Bob had provided, telling them to go back to their game, and that he would be busy there for a little while. After a minute, it sounded to Bob like they were walking away, down the hall.

He had to think. He didn't know what happened to boys who hit each other outside of school, only that you'd get in big trouble if you did it in school. He figured that the best he could hope for was to be kicked out of this football camp, and since his parents would be super-pissed, he figured he could kiss the next football season goodbye at the same time. Of course, there were also images of courthouses, fines, jail-time, and more running through his head. It was so much that he couldn't think. But he had to think.

While Bob was staring at the door trying to figure out what to do, Mouse was crawling deeper into the small room with one arm. He balanced himself against the chair he was sitting in, sobbing quietly, his mouth bleeding more profusely now, his head leaned back in pain, and his left arm still limp. But with his right arm, the one that didn't crash headlong into the wall, he was undoing the fly on his pants.

"S-See," he croaked, thumbing a tiny, one-inch [2½ cm] protrusion from his pants. "There it is." A tear streamed down the right side of his face while a drop of blood oozed from the corner of the left side of his mouth. "T-there it is."

Bob couldn't help but stare. The boy thought this was all because he wanted to see his little cock. Actually, it kind of was, after he thought about it, but then quickly forced down that thought. More than desire to see the boy's little dick, more than the embarrassment at having the boy see his, more than the fear that what he did would be discovered, there was anger. This boy had tried to play him for a fool, and since he had no better plan for the time being, Bob decided that it was time to start making Mouse pay for his crimes.

He took a half-step forward, but before he was even able to put his foot down, the boy croaked something so garbled and mumbled that he couldn't even make out a single word, much less the whole phrase. He spit a mouthful of blood onto his shirt, and then tried again; still incoherent. When Bob leaned down, grabbing the boy's collar for effect, and pulled him closer, he heard what the boy was trying to say. "Please don't hit me." Soft, quiet, and in a very defeated sort of voice. "I'll do anything," he added, "but please don't hurt me any more." So the bullying was working.

"We'll see about that," Bob started quietly, pulling him up to a seated position. Mouse's shirt was bloodstained now, and his eyes were streaming tears, but he had sense enough to sob quietly without attracting the attention of anyone listening at the door. Just because his friends seemed to have gone back to their game without him, that didn't mean that they hadn't sent someone out for help. "You just do exactly what I say, when I say it, and don't you dare question me." If help was coming, Bob might as well have some fun first.

"Y-yes sir," the boy whispered. "Please 3;" he trailed off in sobs.

Bob took Mouse's shirt, and lifted his limp, sorry-looking body into the chair, and went over to his drawer and pulled out a sock. Tying it around the boys eyes, he looked over what he had sitting here in front of him, and for the first time, he noticed that he had never put his own dick back inside his pants. It was rock-hard now, extending out to it's full length of a little more than four and a half inches [11 cm]. He knew that at home, all it took was the mention of a penis or a glimpse of a slightly pretty girl, and his cock jumped right up. Puberty had just barely hit Bob – he still didn't have arm pit hair, and he wasn't quite sure if his voice had broken yet. Those were supposed to be two of the first things that had happened. All he had was a tiny patch of pubic hair on the sides of his dick, and just a thin line that appeared above it, and he could cum, though it just barely dribbled out the tip.

With the makeshift blindfold and gag and what appeared to be a dislocated shoulder, the boy was basically helpless, and an angry Bob was staring down upon him with a desire to cause pain and humiliation. While he may not know much about how to bully or what to do, he could imagine. Step one was going to be to make him feel even more exposed and vulnerable.

From his previous grab, Mouse's light green polo shirt was torn at the neck, just below the buttons. Without warning, Bob seized the collar up a little higher, and used all of his strength to tear through the rest, exposing the boy's chest. It took two tries to get the thing to rip all the way down so it could be removed roughly, but it worked well as an intimidator.

Mouse had a relatively muscular abdomen, six-pack and all, that made Bob rather jealous, and not an ounce of fat on his entire body. It would be a stretch to call the boy muscular, but in a way, with his shirt off, his taut skin highlighted every single muscle the boy did have. He was still a skinny runt, of course – any 12 year old who weighs about 80 pounds [35 kg] would be – but it was more than Bob expected.

Mouse's pants were removed with even greater ease, sliding right off his tiny ass, without even having to have the button undone. Mouse tried in vain to cover up a little when Bob unceremoniously dragged his underwear off, shifting his legs over to one side. That added fuel to the fire.

"Just what do you think you're doing, boy?" Bob demanded, still trying to be quiet and forceful at the same time. "You know what's coming for you now."

The boy muttered something incoherently thanks to the gag in his mouth, and Bob looked down at the pathetic image he saw before him. The boy's pale white legs offered little coverage, but they were doing a decent job of covering up most of what Mouse wanted to hide. But there, right next to his ass, one little plump blueberry was sticking out from between his legs. Bob assumed it was about half the size of one of his own balls, and he had forgotten his jock strap often enough at practice to know how much pain he could cause there.

Without giving any sort of warning, Bob took the first two fingers of his left hand and slapped down lightly on Mouse's exposed testicle. While it wasn't a hard strike, it would certainly smart, and the boy immediately straightened both legs and tensed every muscle in his undersized body. Oh yes, there was pain in that, and a lesson as well.

"Now that hurt, didn't it?" Bob started, putting his hand on the boy's knee. "What do you think should happen now so that you don't have to feel something even harder the next time?"

Reluctantly, the boy rolled over onto his back and started to slowly spread his legs. Bob knew that it must be hard – he was fighting the instinct to draw them in closer after the strike – and the embarrassment of having another boy see your dick, but he complied as best as he seemed able to, sobbing quietly. A quick look at the blindfold showed it to still be in place, with only one or two tears having escaped to drip down his face. The gag was wet with saliva, and showing the pink of some blood, but it was still working.

The boy's cock was as small as his balls were. Maybe an inch [2½ cm] long, still soft, and he had a very tiny patch of pubic hair on each side of his dick. There was no hair on either thigh, or in what little Bob could see of his butt crack.

Mouse choked a bit on the gag while Bob was looking over what he had in front of him, and he even starting moaning a little bit. Bob knew he was embarrassed, and was probably still in pain from the blows he had dealt the boy, but it wasn't enough. He was pretty sure that his friends would go for help the moment that they finally saw the boy, if not before. What he was doing would certainly get him kicked out of camp, if not much worse. He was quite sure that jail was a possibility, and that, in addition to the anger he still had for the boy, helped make his decision easy.

He left the boy for a moment, going to his dresser to retrieve his black cloth belt. He looped the middle around the boys neck, slid the end through part of the buckle, and pulled it into position, quite close to the neck. Removing the bloody gag and blindfold entirely, Bob whispered in the boy's ear again. "Be nice," he said, and then stuck both thumbs in the boys mouth, opening it wide.

He stood up, and put his foot on the chair to position himself better, and then plunged his four and a half inch [11 cm] cock right into the boys mouth. Mouse gagged in surprise, and put his good hand up on Bob's stomach to try and push back a little, but Bob's fingers had an iron grip.

The boy started to make choking noises deep in his throat, so Bob pulled back about halfway, and let the boy catch his breath a bit. The inside of his mouth was a swamp, wet, warm, soft 3; in a word, it was magical. He had never done anything even close to similar, but he had heard through his friends about this – it was called a blow-job or something – and it would make him cum.

After a few seconds of rest, he jammed the cock deeper into his mouth, feeling the boy's lips touch his ball sack. Hearing the gagging noise, and letting it continue a moment longer this time, he reluctantly released, pulling his cock all the way out, and removing his thumbs from Mouse's mouth.

"You get the idea?" he asked. The boy nodded, resting his forehead on Bob's pubes. "Then continue." And so the boy did.

At first, he jammed the entire cock into the back of his own throat, this time using his lips to suck on the base of Bob's bigger cock, and Bob could feel his now slimy dick caressing first the bumpy roof of the boy's mouth, and then the soft, smooshy tongue on it's way back to the hard throat. It was the most amazing thing he had ever felt, far surpassing the few times he had played with his own cock watching a racy movie or paging through a fashion magazine.

After the fifth or sixth deep plunge, the boy had to retch, and for a wonder, he did it quietly. Breathing heavily, spittle mixing with the blood dripping from his mouth from the punch, he started mouthing the rock-hard, blood-and-saliva covered member, with his lips, still careful of using his teeth. He seemed to be having trouble getting it in his mouth, as he was using his good arm to support himself, so he started using his tongue to try getting it into his mouth properly. This produced a new sensation, making Bob shiver and go a little weak in the knees. It wasn't the big moment, but it felt like nothing he had ever experienced.

He let the struggle continue for a moment more, but then he felt like the boy was wasting time. Grabbing his own cock by the base, he tilted the boy's head back, and settled the dick right on his face. The boy took the majority in his mouth, using both the sucking motion and the tonguing motion to great avail. Bob leaned in on Mouse, hovering over, and let himself go.

He came with a rush, his knees buckled, and the boy's eyes lit up as Bob crumpled on top of him pulling the belt so it choked the boy while he shot his load, his cock losing it's stiffness immediately, and he laid on the boy's chest for a moment catching his breath. It was never like that, not ever. It was amazing.

Realizing the boy couldn't breathe, he moved his now soft cock to right in front of Mouse's mouth, and commanded "Spit," as he loosened the belt. What came out was a mix of Bob's cum, blood, and saliva. While it was difficult to tell how much there was, Bob could easily see that he had almost doubled the quantity he usually produced, and – was it imagination, or did it actually shoot out instead of dribble? He wasn't sure, but on ordering the boy to lick it back up and swallow, he was starting to get hard again. The tongue-on-dick sensation was too good to resist.

Not sure quite what to do next, Bob grabbed the boy's discarded shirt and used it to clean himself up a little bit while Mouse was busy trying to breathe while still swallowing the load. Apparently Bob had choked him harder than he thought. Not that it wasn't deserved, but Bob knew that if he wanted Mouse to be conscious for the rest of his torture, he'd have to let up a little more.

As the little prisoner caught his breath from the onslaught of cock, he finally managed to speak. "Now what are you going to do 3;?" Bob, quite honestly, wasn't sure. "I'll never tell 3;" the boy gasped. "Not the punch, not anything 3; please just let me get my ass out of here."

"Ass, did you say?" Bob said, looking down with what he hoped was a menacing smile. Even being as completely satisfied as he just had been, he was still not pleased with what embarrassment the boy tried to inflict on him. Cracking his knuckles and shrugging his shoulders to emphasize the strength difference between them, Bob leaned over and whispered in the boy's ear. "I've heard of 'getting fucked in the ass' and I think I remember that it hurts. Turn over."

The boy's eyes opened wide in fear at the mention of further pain, and he clearly had no idea what was coming. When it took him a moment to respond, Bob yanked harder on the belt still around the boy's neck, causing a gagging sound to emit from the boy's throat. More blood leaked out the side of his mouth, and yet, he didn't move to turn over. "What the fuck's the matter with you boy? I said turn over so I can fuck your butthole."

Mouse complied, not really knowing what was about to happen. Bob honestly didn't either, but he had an idea. The boy laid flat on the chair, clenching his glutes in anticipation, fighting what was going to happen as much as he could. Bob finally undid his own pants finally, sliding them and his underwear all the way down to his ankles, and removed his shirt so he could see better. He slid his body right over the top of the small boy, lining his cock up with the tiny little asshole presented before him.

Using just slight pressure, he pushed in with his hips, and contracted the sphincter slightly without actually entering the lad. Mouse gasped and sobbed at the slight pressure, and Bob could feel the boy trying to squeeze his ass shut. Letting the boy struggle for a few minutes as he moved his dick around the general area, slapping his small ass with his cock, Bob eventually grew too horny to let this play continue.

"All right, you little slut," he started. "I feel you squeezing, and I have to say, I don't like it one bit." Lowering his voice a little to put a little more menace in it, he added "I have a feeling you've shit turds bigger than this cock, and now you're going to feel what it's like to be stuffed."

Grabbing the boy's hips to reposition himself, Bob stood a little straighter and pushed in harder. Still he couldn't break through the muscles clamping the boy's asshole shut, so he let a little spit dribble out the front of his mouth, landing right in Mouse's crease, and used his fingers to rub it in.

At this, an unexpected reaction overtook Bob's prisoner. Instead of sobbing, whimpering, and muffled prayers to be left alone, the boy started to moan in pleasure at having Bob's slicked up fingers massage his butthole. Adding a little more lubrication, and another finger, Bob played his fingers all along the boy's tight hole, spreading the skin with his fingers, and even making a little penetration with the tip of his index finger.

Then, without warning, Bob removed his fingers, slapped the boy hard on the ass, and drove his cock deep into the boy's now-wet asshole. The boy let out a yell, and jumped at the suddenness of the sheer pain and terror that so quickly replaced the short time of pleasure he had been given.

The first stab into the boy's ass only brought the desire for more from Bob's end, so he pulled about a third of the way out, and then rammed again, this time stuffing over half of his cock inside. This produced another squeal of pain, and the boy had to be swatted across the ear to remember that he needed to be quiet while being raped.

Again and again Bob plowed his thirteen-year-old dick into his captive, and while the boy pleaded, squirmed, screamed, and yelped for all his worth, Bob kept on driving deeper and deeper into his hole. Bob could feel it stretching every time he pulled back, and after just a few thrusts, he no longer cared what noises the boy made. All of his attention was on the connection between his cock and the boy's asshole, and the immense pleasure he found in ripping it wide open.

As the thrusting was building to climax for Bob, he heard knocking at his bedroom door. Mouse's screams were louder than he thought, apparently, and his friends had come to rescue him. The little boy was pleading with them to go away, and his friends pounded harder on the door, trying to break it down to gain entry, but all Bob could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and the slap of his balls on Mouse's little blueberries.

And just as his four friends finally broke into the room, taking the door completely off it's hinges, Bob delivered his final thrust, pulled his cock just out of the boy's asshole, and came. After having shot a huge load before, this one was almost insignificant by comparison, but still a steady trickle of hot, milky semen dribbled out of the thirteen-year-old's softening cock, and into the twelve-year-old's gaping asshole, which was thoroughly reamed by the fucking it had just endured. The four boys in the corner just stopped and stared, gape-mouthed, at the scene they had just burst in on.

And quite a scene it was. A streaking bloodstain colored the wall right beside them from where Mouse was initially hit that extended from head-height all the way down to the floorboards, a discarded, torn-in-half green polo shirt sopping wet with blood, saliva, and cum, two discarded lumps that were pants, both with underwear still inside, and two sweaty naked boys, one bent over a chair with a noose made out of a belt, and the other so thoroughly sweaty and wiped out as to be completely helpless. It took all of them a moment to recover.

The first one to move, Johnny, Bob thought, closed his mouth and gulped down some air, moving cautiously around the room to where Mouse was positioned, ass sticking high into the air, junk exposed, and face bright red from hanging down over the edge of the chair so long. Tears and blood covered his face, and his spirit was clearly broken given that he hadn't yet moved a muscle to free himself from his bonds. Johnny put his hand right on the small of Mouse's back, looked into his eyes, and lit up in a huge smile. Sliding his hand farther up the back, he caught the end of the belt Bob was using as a noose, and started pulling back on it.

Since the choice was either to follow or suffocate, Mouse finally was brought upright. Bob was so wiped out from the effort that he was almost completely unable to move, feeling so powerful he couldn't even help himself from being embarrassed at being naked in front of strangers, and so completely satisfied that he couldn't feel ashamed at what he had done. He simply waited to see what his fate would be.

Separating himself from the group clustered by the door, a young boy of eleven, pretty to some extent, but looking even younger than he was, walked over to stand enough away from Bob that he couldn't be grabbed, and opened his mouth to speak. Very hesitant at first, he started off near a whisper.

"I don't think we expected to see this," he started, looking back over his shoulder. One of his older friends, another boy Bob recognized but didn't know, nodded back. "OK 3; well, we knew what was going on, and well, Mouse is our friend and all, but 3; we were wondering if you'd be OK with us joining in too."

The boy who nodded chimed in over by the door. "I know this is your first year and all, but 3; well, we kind of have a tradition here that says that on the last day we all get naked and fuck someone just like you did here." He got a nod from Johnny, who had shifted to support the weight of Mouse, who had slumped over resignedly.

"I think you just started us off a little early." Johnny said.

The small boy spoke up again, "I know we did that on my floor last year, too."

"And this will be loads more fun than truth or dare," said the boy by the door.

Bob couldn't believe what he had just heard. Shaking his head to clear some of the cobwebs, he looked over to where Johnny was holding Mouse up, and he noticed him tugging slightly on the makeshift noose, pants bulging slightly. He looked over to the boys in the corridor, one of whom was making no effort to hide giving Bob a look over from head to toe while simultaneously rubbing his crotch. The other boy, Ben, was actually taking his shirt off.

So after a tiny bit of clean up, a phenomenal job of gluing the door back together in Bob's room, the boys all introduced themselves, and moved together over to the adjacent room belonging to the boy who couldn't keep his eyes off of Bob. In order not to disturb their makeshift handiwork, Bob actually moved in with the boy, who's name was Nick, and they together kept Mouse in line, tying his noose more securely and trapping him in the closet during practices and meal times. Each night, the boys all snuck back some food from the cafeteria and only fed Mouse after he had performed blowjobs on all of them, and usually the night's entertainment involved one or more of the boys raping their prisoner or performing all kinds of lewd acts on him.

By the end of the week, the boys all departed football camp with a promise to never tell of what they had done, what they had seen. Interestingly enough, Mouse gained back a little of his confidence towards the end, even though he missed out on every single practice and the group game to end the week, he agreed that he too would forgive the boys what they had done, promising that the next year he would make sure that a new boy was taken in as the floor whore.

And on the way home, Bob was no longer thinking about football at all. Yes, he would play again, for the school team, and probably for intramurals during the summer, but he really was only going to use it to convince his parents to come back next year. After all, Ben showed him a few tricks on that last day that he really wanted to try out on Mouse, or who ever fell victim to the boy's desires next time.

The End